


Red Sky at Morning

by buttons_n_bose



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Being Lost, Canon Era, Storm - Freeform, race being an older brother, romeo is 10, swearing bc they're teen boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttons_n_bose/pseuds/buttons_n_bose
Summary: written for my best friend: "romeo is scared of storms and he gets stuck selling in one because he wants to finish his stack but everyone went home and they can't find him"
Kudos: 18





	Red Sky at Morning

_ Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight; _

_ Red sky at morning, shepherd’s take warning. _

Race had forgotten about the rhyme. It was stupid, he’d decided. There weren’t shepherd’s anymore, not in Manhattan, and there was “no fuckin’ way the colour of the sky can tell the weather.”

“It’s a common saying.” Davey shrugged. “Typically, if the sky is red in the morning, that means a storm is coming.”

“An’ how accurate is it?” Albert asked.

Davey thought for a moment. “I imagine it’s fairly accurate.”

“He ain’t got a clue,” Elmer whispered loudly, causing everyone to laugh.

That night, the sky was a deep purple, but not red. Everyone joked about how ideal the weather would be the next day, and that was the end of that.

But as the morning bell rang, unforgivably early, the rising sun turned the sky a vibrant red. The newsies barely paid it any attention, washing up and grabbing caps and bags before heading to the church, standing in line as the tired nuns handed them stale scones and cold, bitter coffee. As always, JoJo drank too much and Specs managed to trick the nuns into thinking they hadn’t yet given him a scone. Race split his scone with Romeo, who had practically inhaled his and was still hungry.

“You can’t keep giving him your food,” said Jack, giving him a disapproving frown.

“He’s growin’, I ain’t,” Race replied simply, as though that answered everything. Romeo didn’t say anything at all, happily munching on the barely-edible scone.

The Delancey’s were no more disagreeable than usual, but they certainly weren’t any nicer. Each newsie received (and reciprocated) a glare as they approached the table, placing well-earned coins on the cashbox before taking the papers aggressively handed to them. As they’d quickly learned to do, they counted their papers as they walked away, making sure the brothers hadn’t ripped them off as they’d done several times in the past.

Race felt a tug on his pant leg, and he looked down to find Romeo looking up at him with big, bright eyes.

“Help?” the brown-haired little asked, holding out his stack.

“C’mon, Romes,” Race chided, crouching down to equal height, “how’re ya gonna learn to count if ya don’t try?”

“Don’t tell Davey,” said Romeo. “I’s slow.”

“You ain’t slow, kid. You’s learnin’.” Still, Race took the stack of papers, half the size of his own. “I’ll help, ‘kay? One…”

Romeo watched as Race set one paper on the dry ground, then another. “Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

“Nine.”

“Ten!” Romeo grinned proudly. The first ten were easy.

“See? This ain’t so bad.” Race smiled encouragingly. “A’ight, eleven.”

Romeo frowned, staring at the paper Race had put down for him to count. “Two… two….elve? Twelve?” he asked uncertainly.

“There ya go! Now it gets easier. Thirteen.”

“...Fourteen.”

“Uh-huh. Fifteen.”

“Sixteen!”

They continued until hitting twenty-five, the square now empty except for the two of them. Romeo picked up the stack of counted papers proudly, placing them in his bag and shouldering it.

“D’you wanna sell with me today?” Race offered as they walked down the cobblestone road.

Romeo shook his head. “I promised Finchie. Tom-tomo…” He frowned, nose scrunching as he concentrated on the word. “Tom. Orr. Oh.”

Race bit his lip to keep from laughing. He didn’t want the little to think he was laughing  _ at _ him. “Tomorrow it is, Romes.”

Race didn’t usually let Romeo walk alone. He was only ten, and Manhattan wasn’t safe for anyone, much less a kid who couldn’t read the street signs. But Finch’s selling spot wasn’t far, and he was sure Romeo would be okay for a short distance in broad daylight. He ruffled the little’s hair and sent him on his way, watching him for a few moments before turning his attention to a businessman walking in his direction.

***

The newsies were stuck inside. It was storming outside: lightning flashed across the sky like shooting stars too shy to take their time, booming thunder following close behind as though someone were playing drums right inside the lodge house.

“Everyone’s here, right?” Jack asked, standing on the stairs to do a quick headcount as the newsies wandered between the kitchen and living room.

“Looks like it,” Race reported, doing his own count from the ground. Another crack of lightning, and the newsies either pressed their faces against the window to watch, or hurried upstairs to the comfort of their rooms.

“Good.” Jack ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll just wait it out. At least we’s done sellin’.”

Race walked another lap around the first floor as Jack headed upstairs to account for those who had gone to their rooms. They were mostly littles, the others going about their typical evening routine of playing cards and counting (and betting...and losing) their day’s earnings. Race joined Albert, Finch and Smalls in a game, taking a seat on the floor as Henry tried to light the fireplace.

Jack came down a few minutes later, rushing through the kitchen before standing in the doorway of the living room, eyes scanning the area.

Sniper looked up from the couch, which he’d comfortably sprawled himself across. “Everythin’ okay, Jack?”

“Has anyone seen Romeo?” Jack answered with a question.

The others looked around, checking with each other as they slowly shook their heads.

“Last I saw him was this mornin’,” said Race, brows furrowing. “I helped him count his papes, an’ then he went to sell with Finch.”

“Huh?” Finch frowned. “He didn’t sell with me today.”

“The fuck? I sent him to ya.”

“Well, he never showed.” Finch flipped his cards nervously between his hands. “Fuck, ya think he sold alone?”

“He must’ve.” Jack rubbed his face with his hands. “Okay, uh...he’s pro’ly still outside.”

“In  _ that _ ?” Elmer squeaked as more thunder rolled overhead. “He’s gotta be scared to death.”

“I gotta go get him,” said Race, scrambling to his feet.

“Are ya sure?” Smalls asked.

“I ain’t leavin’ him out there!” Race was already at the front door, pulling it open. “I gotta...I gotta help him.”

“I’ll come, too,” said Finch, following the blond out. “I’ll check my area, see if he ended up there. An’ Jacobi’s.”

“I got the square and my area,” said Race as the door closed behind them. The two hurried to the crossroads, giving each other a reassuring nod before separating.

Romeo had no idea where he was, what was going on, or whether the water on his face was rain or tears. Realistically, it was probably a mixture of both.

He knew he shouldn’t have stayed so late. But he still had three papers left when he started getting hungry for dinner, and he hated going back to the lodging unless his bag was empty. The others, especially Jack and Race, promised they wouldn’t throw him out just for coming back with a couple of old papers. They could be reused, somehow. But seeing the others return, bags empty and pockets full, didn’t exactly make Romeo feel any better.

But now he was lost, and cold, and he didn’t care about the soggy papers in his bag anymore. Now, he just wanted to go home.

“Hello?” he called into the darkness, hoping someone, anyone, would hear. “Hello? Can someone please help me?”

No one answered, and Romeo choked out another sob. It was dark and cold and he was all alone again, left alone because no one wanted to listen to him cry, no one wanted to go out of there way to help…

“H-hello?” Romeo called again, considerably quieter this time. He headed towards the doorway to a shop that had closed for the shopkeeper’s birthday, curling up on the stairs under the shelter of the awning. “P-please...I’m real cold.”

“Romeo!” Race yelled, running down the street. He hadn’t found the little in the square, or anywhere around his selling area. He’d already bumped into Finch, along the border where their turfs met, but the other boy hadn’t had any luck either. Race was drenched, his clothes long since soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead and dripping down the sides of his face. He barely recognized how cold he was, too concerned about the little to care about himself.

“We’ll find him,” Finch promised, heading towards the theatre, where Romeo was known to end up after following the music.

“I know,” said Race, though Finch was already too far gone to hear. “We gotta.”

Where would he go if he were Romeo? If he were Romeo, who didn’t know the directions to the house, or Jacobi’s, or even the square...where would he go to feel safe?

_ Fuck if I know _ , Race thought angrily, kicking a pebble in his path. He continued walking, going nowhere in particular, the sense of dread filling him picking up speed.

Romeo had stopped calling for help. No one was coming, and he knew from experience not to expect anyone to. He would have to get through the night on his own.

He pulled a paper from his bag. It was wet, but still legible, and he spread it out on the dry front step beside him.

“Freak...ex-explo-explosion...kills...twenty,” he sounded out slowly, holding his finger under each word as Davey had taught him to. “Dozens...wow-ded. Four...missing.”

A streak of lightning lit up the page, and he squeaked in surprise. He covered his ears at the thunder that followed, his bottom lip quivering. When he was sure the danger had passed, he opened his eyes, adjusting his cap as he looked back down at the paper. The latest lightning strike had caused the electric street lamps to go out, leaving only the fire-lit ones remaining. It was dimmer now, and arguably scarier, but Romeo chose to focus on the words.

“A crowd...ga-gath-gathered...this morning…”

Race squinted down the road he came towards, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, that would hint towards Romeo being there. Still, he wasn’t going to give up. He couldn’t, not when he was all that the boy had.

He almost didn’t bother with that street — it was too dark, why would Romeo go there? — when he heard a familiar voice.

“...scary,’ said Missus...Franklin. ‘I rem-em...remember...thinking…’”

“Romeo?” Race called, walking quickly down the street. “Romeo, is that you?”

Romeo looked up at the voice calling his name, immediately frightened. Who was the stranger in the dark, and why was he coming over so fast?

“Romes, Jesus Christ, is that you?”

“Race!” Romeo squealed, getting to his feet. “Race! It’s me!”

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” Race said again, dropping to his knees as the little ran over, wrapping his arms around the small, shivering body. “God, Romes, don’t ever...don’t fuckin’... _ Christ _ .”

“I’m s-sorry,” Romeo mumbled into Race’s shirt, holding him tightly. “I’m sorry, I w-wanted to sell all my papes, I o-only had th-three…”

“It’s okay,” Race assured him, picking him up with ease. “You’s okay, an’ that’s all that matters.”

“You ain’t mad?” Romeo asked.

“No, Romes, I ain’t mad. No one’s mad.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Satisfied, the little rested his head on Race’s shoulder as he walked back towards the house. Race kissed Romeo’s wet hair, hugging him tighter as he walked. Only a few moments passed before he heard faint snoring, Romeo fast asleep in his arms. Finally, he was safe.


End file.
